


Of Triplets and Polyrhythms

by ghostofgatsby



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, American Football, Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7070989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Ross rounds the corner, he sees something hidden under the bleachers. Or rather, two someones. Smith and Trott are making out next to a pillar.<br/>Ross stumbles to a stop and stares, unable to look away. Trott’s hand is in Smith’s hair and Smith’s hands are on Trott’s hips. He’s got a knee between Trott’s, and he’s-<br/><em>Fuck.</em><br/><em>Fuck you, and your PDA.</em></p><p>Alex Smith and Chris Trott are dating. And to Ross Hornby, it is the weirdest fucking thing on the planet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Triplets and Polyrhythms

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my docs since last summer. After so long of having it sit to collect dust, and not wanting to finish it at all in that time...I decided to cut it short. Originally, this was supposed to be longer, but I don't have the motivation to continue. It'd simply be too much work, and then you'd probably never get to read this at all- and it's so nostalgic for me that I want to share it.
> 
> This AU is stereotypically based off of my high school band, and born out of so much love, from being a former band kid and drummer myself. It gives me so many nostalgia feels for my old drumline.  
> If anybody has any questions or needs an explanation of something in this fic, feel free to ask.
> 
> Ross pines over Troffy  
> American high school, American football. AMERICA!
> 
> cw: none that I can think of, besides public displays of affection, awkwardness, embarrassment, making out, and heavy petting/grinding.  
> If you need something tagged, let me know.
> 
> In this fic, Ross, Smith, and Trott are Seniors in high school and 18 yrs old, if that’s not mentioned otherwise.

Alex Smith and Chris Trott are dating. And to Ross Hornby, it is the weirdest fucking thing on the planet. The two spent all of Junior year yelling insults at each other, but all it took was one summer. They came to band camp hand in hand one day, and ever since they’d been seen being very PDA-friendly. To the point where the band directors had to yell at them when they made out during breaks.

Smith and Trott never got along before in band or in school. The unspoken rivalry between the saxophones and trumpets only extended their annoyance at each other. But now, the two former-rivals are laughing; they’re talking a few feet from their spots on the football field where the trumpets and the woodwinds meet. The band is charting the third song in their halftime show after school today. Instead of just cursing and throwing shade, Smith and Trott joke loudly with cheerful grins on their faces and their hands loosely intertwined.

“You’re staring again, Ross.”

“No, I’m not.” Ross contests. He taps his thumbs on the rim of the snare drum holstered on his shoulders, chewing his lip.

“Yes you are, because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t even know what I said. You would be staring off into space, distracted, instead of trying to prove your innocence.”

Fucking Will Strife. The young man is too smart and observant for his own good. Or maybe Ross is just too obvious. Strife is a straight-A student, president of the engineering club, and probable candidate for valedictorian. He already has his college planned with a full ride scholarship in his pocket. He’s sharp as knife, quick-witted, and notices _everything_.

Ross turns to his blonde second-in-command and scowls. “Eat shit, Will.”

Will glances up from the dirt-smudged packet of charts in his hands and smirks. “Hey, no need to be mad at me, man.” He adjusts his sunglasses on his head and folds the charts in half again. “I was just saying, I don’t get why you’re staring. It’s like you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” Ross huffs. He folds his snare drum up to his chest and crosses his arms over the top. His drum sticks clack together in his hands and he sighs. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Alright...” Will says skeptically. He turns from Ross to yell at the quads, who are air humping and thrusting their heavy, expensive drums dangerously close to each other.

Up at the front of the stadium, the band directors stand. The drum majors are retaking their places atop the ladders at the thirty and fifty yard lines. The band obediently shuffles into position and winces when the megaphone turns on with an ear-grating screech.

“Everyone back in position, please,” Mr. Xephos commands, voice shrill as it projects across the field. “We’re going to run through that section two or three times more, and then run the whole third song from beginning to end.”

“Remember!” Mr. Honeydew shouts, voice loud enough without a megaphone. “Flutes, keep those chins up. Everyone should keep your bodies straight, your feet pointed in the direction you are moving, and your instrument pointed towards the audience.”

The megaphone crackles as Mr. Xephos adds in, “Except drums.”

When marching left or right, the drumline doesn’t turn their feet. If you tilt your hips, your drum moves with you, and it looks bad if your drum isn’t flat. The drumline crab-walks instead, which is basically doing the grapevine across the field on your toes.

“You got it, Mr. Xeph!” One of the bass drum players yells to the sidelines, giving a thumbs up.

Ross rolls his eyes. Fucking crab-walking. What a pain. His ankles don’t operate like that.

Mr. Honeydew turns the metronome on. The sharp, loud ping echoes off the walls of the concrete football stadium, making Ross wince.

The drum majors call the band to attention and Ross takes a deep breath as they begin.

 

* * *

 

"I like your plume, Ross."

Ross rolls his eyes as he tugs his band hat down over his ears. "Eat shit, Nano."

The short Asian girl gives him a wicked grin and giggles. Nano is a sophomore, and a snare player. She isn’t flirtatious, per say, but she banters with the rest of the guys on the drumline with a natural fluidity. It was a surprise to them that she had such a dirty mind, despite not being much of a tomboy.

“Comes with having three older brothers.” She had told him once.

It’s Friday night, and the marching band is set to perform at the football team’s home game. The majority of the drumline is packed in the drum room, putting on their uniforms and trying to avoid the chaos that was the entire band getting ready for game time.

The drum room is located at the back of the music room where band classes were held. All the percussion equipment is stored there, with shelves for the drums, their carriers, sticks, cymbals, and other miscellaneous items. There are no windows, and that was probably a good thing, considering the fact that the lights in the ceiling got broken every year by stupid people throwing drumsticks around. The walls are beaten and shredded to hell, with dents and scuff marks and chunks carved out. There are even tiny bits of calculator embedded in the far wall, from a last-minute Calculus study session gone horribly wrong. Posters, old vinyl records, concert billfolds, and band pictures are taped in a scattered fashion to the wall, to cover up the ugliness.

It’s a crap room, but it’s their crap room.

Ross takes his carrier down from the shelf. He settles the foam-padded plastic frame on the curves of his shoulders, and pulls the lapels of his jacket over the edges before zipping it up.

“‘Scuse me, Ross. Need to get through.” Strippin gestures past Ross’ shoulder. He and Benji are fully dressed and already have their wide sets of quads hooked onto their carriers.

“Oops, sorry.” Ross scoots out of the path of the door for the two quad players to leave the room.

Strippin and Benji are an odd couple of sophomores. They had been friends for so long they were practically brothers, and they didn’t talk to many others. But they were pretty fun to have around, and not bad drummers. Sometimes they were clueless as fuck, and that led to some great jokes.

Ross chuckles, thinking of Benji’s nickname problem. He takes his snare drum from the shelf and hooks it onto the metal ends of the harness not covered by his uniform. Double checking his state of dress and the black socks on his feet, he grabs his drumsticks and walks out of the drum room.

Nano and Lalna are a few chairs away from the door.

"Come on, Lalna, get your fucking shoes on, let's go!" Nano shoves at the grumpy Junior's shoulder, almost knocking him over.

Lalna wobbles precariously, one leg up on the chair where he is tying his shoe. "I am, jeeze, Nano. Good thing I'm gonna be gone when you're running the line. Won't have to deal with your bossy pants."

"Oh, not necessarily." Nano smiles evilly. "I could lead next year, you never know."

Nano is kick-ass at drumming. She could have beaten out Ross and Will for section leader try-outs, but they had more experience. Luckily.

"The leader of the drumline is always a senior. There’s no way you could lead next year." Lalna protests.

"Yeah, and what makes you think Honeydew is going to follow that tradition?" Ross replies teasingly. "Frankly, I wouldn't blame him if he put Nano in next year- who ever heard of a bass drummer leading the line?"

Lalna whines back at Ross mockingly and the snare drummer just laughs.

"Are you ready yet, Lal? You take fucking _forever_!" Nano sticks her tongue out at him.

"I’m done, okay? Keep your trousers on!" Lalna lowers his other foot to the floor and dusts a bit of grass of his pants.

"Everybody ready to go?" Ross calls out to his drumline. "Let's head out!"

 

The drumline makes their way outside to the tree just beyond the stadium gates. Ross tells everyone to stretch until the entire drumline is assembled, and then they’ll run through some warm ups and the cadences for pre-game with the crew.

People going to the game that night walk past them to line up for tickets. Some stop to watch for a few minutes, some give the drummers a wave and a compliment, and others just smile.

"It's good to be the drumline." Will notes at Ross' right side. They finished their warming up and were waiting for the rest of the band to come outside so they could line up on the track for pre-game.

"Fuck yeah it is." Ross agrees, grinning back.

The drum majors, dressed in fancier uniforms than the rest of the band, pop through the double doors leading into the high school,.

"Hey Ross!" The blonde girl of the trio calls over. Lomadia is one of their best drum majors. When she tells you to shut up and listen, you fucking shut up and listen. Nobody messes with her, but she’s also excellent at keeping time and a really nice person if you get to know her. Just don't get on her bad side.

Ross walks over, scraping the dirt off the side of his black marching shoes as he does. "Hey Lom. Whatcha need?"

"I talked to the cheerleading coach." Lomadia says, folding her gloved hands over the top of her directing mace. "They want you and the drumline to play their 'Go Team Go' cheer with them at the beginning of the 2nd quarter."

"Okay, we can do that." The drumline didn't especially like the cheerleaders, but they were better than the fucking flags. "Is the band on their way out, or do you think we have time to run it through once or twice?"

"You should have enough time." Lomadia nods and bids Ross good luck. "See you at line-up." She walks off with the other drum majors, presumably to go over any last minute things. Ross turns back towards his drumline and sets about practicing through the cheer a couple times.

 

The band lines up on the track, absorbing the calls and cheers from the crowd. Over the intercom, the announcers talk about tickets and tonight’s players, while the football team moves past the band to have a team meeting in the locker room.

Ross takes his place in the center of the snare line, the cymbal line in front of them and the quads and basses behind. Lomadia and the other drum majors call the band to attention. Her eyes connect with Ross’ and she gives him a short nod.

He starts the roll off-tap off, for their first pre-game song. His drumline joins in around him, the drum majors start conducting, and the band comes to life with a blast of sound.

There’s a tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth, which disappears with concentration. But Ross loves this feeling. The rush and thrill he gets from playing makes his heart pound and his blood sing.

The crowd roars over the driving rhythm. Let the game begin.

 

* * *

 

Ross’ stomach grumbles as he steps away from the concession stand. Pre-game, the 1st and 2nd quarters, and the halftime show all went smoothly. After their show, the band went inside to change out of their uniforms. They would wear pep band shirts and hoodies for the rest of the game. The entire 3rd quarter was their break, and Ross had left his drum up in the stands before looking for food.

The concession stand on the home side of the stadium was out of Chick-fil’ A sandwiches, unfortunately. He checked the visitor’s side, but they were out of sandwiches too. Dammit. He’d have to settle for hot dogs. It wasn’t the most appetizing dinner, but it was either that or stale nachos.

The foil-wrapped hot dogs he bought are hot to the touch, nestled in the pocket of his hoodie next to his drumsticks. Ross opens up a bottle of Pepsi to satisfy his thirst, and starts walking back to the stands. He groans with the crowd when the away team scores a touchdown.

As he rounds the corner, he sees something hidden under the bleachers. Or rather, two some _ones_. Smith and Trott are making out next to a pillar.

Ross stumbles to a stop and stares, unable to look away. Trott’s hand is in Smith’s hair and Smith’s hands are on Trott’s hips. He’s got a knee between Trott’s, and he’s-

_Fuck._

_Fuck you, and your PDA._

Ross can feel his face heating up.

Come on, did they seriously have to make out in this corner? Just as he walks around it?

But he had to admit, it was hot...

_No, we’re not going there brain, don’t even-_

Smith moans against Trott’s mouth, and Ross makes a squawk of indignation.

The couple starts at the sound. They look over, confused for a moment before laughing at the look on Ross’ face.

“Care to join us, mate?” Smith asks, grinning.

“Wh- No.” Ross turns on his heel and walks off the way he came, ducking his head in embarrassment. He can hear them laughing behind him.

 _What the fuck_. He thinks to himself. _Why would I think that’s hot- I- Gross. That’s disgusting. I can’t just sexualize them like that._

_Not like it was hard, though, with Trott grinding his crotch on-_

_Nope. Nope, not going there. Don’t even think about it._

Ross frowns and weaves through the crowds.

Smith’s question echoes in his head. _Care to join us, mate?_

But Ross didn’t want to think about that now. He wasn’t going to think about the response held on the tip of his tongue.

 _Yes, I would, actually_.

He’s not going to think about what that means.

The crowd surges to their feet as their football team ties it up. Ross pulls his hoodie tighter around him and makes his way back to the band.

 

“Ross, are you going to the party tonight?” Lalna asks.

“Nah, I’m beat.” Ross sighs heavily and puts away his snare drum. The football game resulted in a win for the home team, and to celebrate some upper-class band members were throwing a party.

“But who knows how many we have left?” Will chimes in. “We might not get another chance.”

“That’s depressing!” Lalna scoffs.

“It’s the truth, though. All the more reason to have fun.” Will grins.

“You’ll go to the next one, right Ross?” Nano asks, stretching and groaning about her sore back.

Ross chuckles. “Sure. Next one.”

He says goodbye to his drumline and drives home. Honking cars speed past him on the main roads until he gets closer to the neighborhood that he lives in. The night is cool and crisp, and he keeps the window open to let in the breeze and the sound of the chirping crickets.

Ross lies in bed that night. He runs a hand through his hair, damp from his shower, and thinks.

Despite the game being awesome, he can’t help but focus on his encounter with Smith and Trott. He doesn’t know them all that well even though they’ve been in band together for years. He has classes with them, but they run in different social circles. They didn’t talk much outside of band. Smith is salty as fuck, and Trott can complain for eons, but they’re both charming and smart. They’re funny and good musicians.

So, why does the sight of the them together make him feel so conflicted?

Ross thinks about how he felt, and Will’s comment from earlier in the week comes back to him.

_It’s like you’re jealous._

He isn’t jealous. He doesn’t _get_ jealous. The relationships he had in the past ended because he hadn’t paid enough attention to them, not because he was jealous or envious of someone else.

He thinks hard about Trott and Smith. Seeing them together makes him confused and...

Slightly...upset?

But what is he so bothered about?

Ross rolls over in bed, sighing and burying his face in his pillow.

 _Start with the basics._ _Why is their relationship weird to you?_

Smith and Trott had been less-than-friendly before they got together. Now, they are closer than that. Friends and lovers.

That was the weird part. But it’s not completely uncommon for a person to develop a relationship with someone that used to be their rival. So why does it bother him?

Whenever Ross sees them together, Smith and Trott are smiling happily. They always look like they are having fun. They look...in love, in the barest definition that his teenage brain knows of.

 _I want that kind of relationship,_ Ross thinks, _I like how they get along now. Maybe that’s all_.

But...it’s more than that.

He can’t deny his attraction to Smith and Trott. Well, he can, but they weren’t bad looking. He isn’t ashamed of being attracted to guys. They’re attractive, so what? It isn’t wrong to think that.

The sight of Smith and Trott making out in the corner is brought back to mind. Ross groans quietly. _Don’t forget: they’re dating each other. Don’t be a creep._

The PDA makes him feel uncomfortable. Any couple in high school who makes out in the corners is a nuisance. They always get in the way, and no one wants to round a corner and see two people getting hot and bothered.

Smith and Trott happen to annoy him more than average whenever he sees them together- kissing or not.

_Why does that annoy me? Why does that bother me?_

He isn’t jealous of what they have together- is he?

Ross rolls over again, onto his side.

 _Maybe I want that kind of relationship._ _I want someone to look at me that way_.

He isn’t lonely, not by a long shot. And yet when he thinks about Smith and Trott, and the looks they give one another...

He wants that too. It isn’t that he thinks they shouldn’t be together, he just...

Ross wonders what it would be like if they looked at him the same way.

_I want that relationship._

_I want to be_ in _that relationship._

 _I want them to look at_ me _that way._

The realization makes his chest ache. Ross rolls onto his back and sighs up at the patterns in the ceiling.

_Fuck._

_I’m jealous of them both._

**Author's Note:**

> A lovingly titled playlist (more for myself than anything) full of pep band songs, classic rock, middle school dance tunes, songs I played at drum lessons, and songs I played air guitar to when I was a kid: https://open.spotify.com/user/ghostofgatsby/playlist/23uv9tLRHOa3fE9wz2I7eS  
> There are some explicit rap songs on there, but otherwise it's a pretty clean playlist. There are also some drum cadences by Cassidy Byars which are pretty great. The Level 2 stuff is roughly high school level stuff (Apollo and Avenger, for example), but that's sometimes hard to judge since it's for college students (Merc and Genesis). Theoretically anyone can play these, with enough time/effort/drumline coordination, but, yeah.  
> Anything with a good beat makes my brain melt. MMMmmmm.
> 
> This is a good example of a cadence, and the general awesomeness/crazy-ness of the drumline in the stands. Though this drumline is much, much larger and better than mine was. Yeesh.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhjoOboQuZ4  
> This is another example, where you can see the harnesses. Closer to the size of my drumline (though I wonder why there aren't any cymbals?) ((and also, where are the girls on snare/quads, hm?))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4paPZXEfk5s  
> And of course, you can't share drumline videos without sharing the very excellent "Hot Scots":  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iuD3pSgBcw
> 
> so true: http://www.wikihow.com/Survive-Band-Camp
> 
> If anyone wants to continue/write something in this, hit me up at my gmail/in the comments!


End file.
